


Things Learned After the Fall

by Riennynn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Asexuality, Friendship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-20 08:53:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riennynn/pseuds/Riennynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I feel great affection for you, Dean Winchester.  Angels were made for love, and I love you more than my brethren believe acceptable.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Speechless

**Author's Note:**

> This is an ongoing work in progress. It explores friendship and romance based on feelings and connection instead of smut alone.
> 
> The idea slithered into my head late one night lying awake, wondering - what if Castiel is asexual as an angel? What does becoming human mean for him and Dean?

_The present..._

Dean reaches down, eagerly expecting arousal in reciprocation to his own. What he finds is softness. He listens closer – no elevated heartbeat, breathing steady and regular.

“Cas?”

“I am here, Dean. This vessel,” Castiel gestures to the body he inhabits, “is human, but I am not. Angels weren’t built for physical sensation. We are…incapable…of sexual arousal.”

“Cas-“

“Do not doubt the depth of my affection for you, Dean. I am unable to manifest the symptoms of human sexual response, but if you wish, my vessel is yours. I very much enjoy giving you pleasure. Please do not think that my lack of response in any way lessens the love I possess.”

“Cas, I’m not sure if I can just…use…you like that. It wouldn’t be right.”


	2. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events leading up to those described in the first chapter. How did things start before Dean tries to take Cas to bed?

_Three weeks prior..._

It begins with just a kiss, one that Dean can’t claim to be drunk or even particularly tipsy for.  (As Sam so helpfully pointed out way back when they were hunting the Shojo, “Can you even get drunk anymore? It's sort of like drinking a vitamin for you, right?”)  

It’s during the Leviathan debacle, after Castiel has regained his memories and before stabbing Dick Roman sent them both flying into Purgatory.  Dean is sure there’s some pun about exploding Dick in there, but he doesn’t particularly want to think about Leviathans and anything related to sex in the same sentence.  

Teeth.  Sex.  Ugh. 

They’re in a particularly celebratory mood, riding the high of seeing a way out of things, just maybe this time.  Sam has passed out on his bed in yet another no-name motel, snoring lightly.  Dean is staring off into space, nursing the last of his beer, and Castiel is staring intently at him.  This is hardly new – in fact, Dean has gotten used to the perpetual quizzical expression and almost unblinking regard from the angel.  He moves to set the empty bottle on the table when their eyes meet.  A quip about creepy stalker angels dies on his lips as he catches the hint of something else hiding behind the distant but always intense blue.  Something almost soft, affectionate.

Dean blinks rapidly a couple of times, certain that maybe he’s detoxed enough off the hard stuff that he’s starting to see things.  The last thing they need is the return of hallucinations in their lives.  He pushes his chair back and stretches, popping his spine, opening his eyes to see Castiel still staring with that oddly tender expression.

“Cas, you ok man?”

The angel pauses.  “I am not in distress, Dean.”  There’s an edge to his tone, and Dean itches to reach out a hand and smooth the crease in his brow.  _Like he’d let you_ , he tells himself, _Angel of the Lord_ , _content yourself with him being your friend.  Outside of Sammy, there’s just Cas.  Don’t mess this one up, Winchester._   “You should sleep.”

Dean nods, toeing off his boots and shrugging out of his overshirt.  He’s long since stopped worrying about modesty between the years spent sharing motel rooms with Sam, and drops his jeans over the chair.  The sheets are cool and Cas nods at the lamp once Dean is settled, which obediently switches off.  “Sleep well, Dean.”

***

Sulfur, the hiss of hot metal against flesh.  Screams, agonizingly short in duration.

Dean bolts upright, heart racing at the touch of cool fingers on his brow.  It takes him a few heart-stopping seconds to register that he’s not back in the Pit, that the bonds he imagined are no more than the sheets tangled around his legs.  Castiel is perched on the side of the bed, hand outstretched and hovering inches away.

“Cas-?”

“I was unable to redirect your memories into something more innocuous and allow you to continue your slumber.  It seemed prudent to wake you.”  The angel withdraws his hand, fingers fluttering against the pale, shadowed fabric of his coat.  “Perhaps you would prefer a dreamless sleep?”  Those long fingers are approaching again, and Dean isn’t sure what impulse prompts him to catch them between his own.

Castiel’s skin is cool to the touch, a slight warmth and feeling of his – Jimmy’s? – pulse beneath the skin.  “It’s ok Cas, thanks for waking me up.”

Uncharacteristic frustration creases his brow.  “My powers are fading further Dean.  I am unable to provide you with restful sleep…”  The sigh Castiel lets out seems purely human.

Before he can stop himself, Dean reaches up with his other hand – deliberately not thinking about the feeling of the fingers beneath his own – and runs his thumb across that crease.  “Really, I’m human, a few nightmares aren’t going to make it any worse than I’ve lived my whole life.”  It’s only half a lie.  Nightmares before his descent into Hell at least didn’t involve him torturing souls with Alastair’s voice as the soundtrack.

A negating head shake.  “You are…” Castiel pauses again, and Dean expects him to say ‘my charge’ or ‘the righteous man’ as he has so often in the past.  Blue eyes close, then open again.  “You are not mine, Dean Winchester, much as I wish to shelter you from this all.”

In the bed four feet and a nightstand away, Sam is snoring louder than before.  Dean swallows convulsively and before he can chicken out, pulls Castiel down for a kiss.


	3. The Kisses of His Mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth"
> 
> -Song of Solomon

Softness, breath ghosting across his lips. Warmth and coolness, an almost electric hum in his bones. A lack of scent, no musk or something to mark the one before him, just the faint whiff of laundry detergent Jimmy Novak's suit must have been laundered with before he put it on and stepped into the life of a vessel. Idly, he wonders how Castiel restored his clothing to its original form every time he was shot or stabbed or bloodied while still retaining its owner's subtle touches of humanity.

Dean opens his eyes - when had he closed them? - and pulls back just far enough to see the angel's expression. Castiel's eyes have that same strange tenderness he had seen earlier in the evening, mixed with a look of wonder. They're also oddly unfocused, but not in the same way as when he was extending his angelic senses.

"Ummm. Please don't smite me man."

The hand Dean had latched on to loosens its grip, and he steels himself for Castiel to pull back or push him away. Instead, the angel before him raises his fingers up to his lips, pressing them against his mouth. He murmurs something so softly, like a thought he hadn't meant to give voice to. Was that wonder in his eyes?

"What was that?"

Those blue eyes abruptly refocus, and multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent or not, Dean feels the intensity wash over him. He swallows, throat suddenly dry. 

The angel draws what must be a completely unnecessary breath. "Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth..."

"Cas, man - "

" - for your love is better than wine."

Dean Winchester, smart mouth extraordinaire and king of witty comebacks, is speechless.


	4. Consent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam isn't as asleep as they think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter didn't write itself out quite as intended. It was a whole lot smoother while watching it play out in my head, so hopefully I can smooth the bumps out after catching my runaway muse.

Castiel is abruptly all concern as Dean's jaw works open and shut multiple times but no sound escapes.  "Dean?  Have I injured your jaw?  I assure you, I will never bear any intention of harm towards your person."  

The angel's upraised hand returns to his face, brow once again furrowing in concentration.  "I sense no injury to your vocal cords, yet you seem to be in some distress?"

"Dude.  What did you just say?"  The points of contact from fingertips to skin feel like tiny pinpricks of lightning.  Should he lean into the touch or pull away?

"I was inquiring as to your current state of health, but your voice appears to have returned."

"That's not what I meant, Cas."

From the other bed, Sam's sleepy voice drifts over.  "The Song of songs.  Please tell me you two aren't going to do anything graphic while I'm right here."

Castiel lays his hand on Dean's arm, and turns his head.  "My apologies, Sam, your brother and I shall discuss this elsewhere."

****

Zapping places via Angel Air never sits well with Dean's stomach, or his intestines, and especially not his digestive processes.  They land with a rush of fluttering wings.  At least Castiel decided on the Impala, and not some random street corner.  Given that Dean is still clad in boxers and a worn t-shirt, that's probably for the best.

"So.  Ummm."  Thank goodness Sam isn't listening now, or else he'd never hear the end of it.  Dean Winchster does  _not_ stutter and blush like a teenager about to ask their crush on a date for the first time.  Except, apparently, when trenchcoated angels are involved.  He clears his throat, shifts to put a little bit of distance between the two of them (did Castiel seriously have no respect for the invisible line dividing the front seat?), rubs his stomach twice, and starts again.  

"About the kiss, Cas."

"Yes, Dean?"

"I uhhh, I'm not usually into guys."  It's not a lie.  There were a handful of men sprinkled amongst the women (not nearly as many as Sam might make it out to be), sure, but never more than a willing and attractive partner to share an hour or a night with.

Castiel is still staring at him, hasn't stopped since they landed in the car.  The usual serenity of his expression is underlaid with puzzlement.  "I am completely indifferent to sexual orientation.  In addition, although my vessel is male, angels do not conform to a particular binary gender identification."  There is a relieving and utter lack of judgment in his tone, but not the affirmation Dean is seeking either. Angels might be all about consent issues, but he's never been one to force his attentions on anyone.

Rubbing his hand on his bare thigh, he sucks in a breath and wishes for a moment that Cas would just go ahead and read his mind.  It might make things a whole lot simpler.  On the other hand, given that he still isn't completely sure what he's thinking at all times, maybe not such a great idea.

"Cas."  One syllable, and it's drawn out slowly.  "I'm no good with talking about feelings man, just ask Sammy."

"Would you like me to wake your brother?"  There's a hint of wry humor lurking at the corner of the angel's mouth.  

Just enough levity to help drain a little of the tension, and Dean smiles briefly.  Another breath, and he can feel Castiel watching his mouth as if the indrawn air is visible. "Not what I meant.  I...you're my best friend.  And I don't want to screw anything up.  But honest?  I'd really like to kiss you again.  Unless you don't want to, then we won't, and uhh, we can just forget about this and you can send me back to bed and-"

"Dean."

"-yeah?"

"You may kiss me."

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kissing as a spiritual experience.

Mouth dry, Dean crumples the fabric of his boxers between the fingers of his left hand and jumps as Castiel's hand covers his right. He stares down at them and swallows, wondering if he should be gentle or use this kiss to give voice to the heat threatening to consume him.

"Is this acceptable, Dean? I understand that contact between the hands of persons who feel affection for one another is appropriate."

Whatever he opened his mouth to say is lost. "Affection, Cas?" He's almost afraid to look up from their hands on the seat, unsure whether he wants to see the angel's expression. Gentle but steely strong fingers beneath his chin, pulling his head inexorably upwards. His heart is pounding a staccato beat. Greatly daring, he lifts his eyes to meet Castiel's; the angel is bathed in an aura of moonlight (when did he start thinking like a romance novel?), catching his wind-mussed hair (Dean has always thought that must be from flying) and lighting his skin.

Castiel smiles very slightly, moves his fingers in a feathery caress along the human's jaw. "Therefore do the virgins love thee," he murmurs.

A convulsive swallow. Three deep inhalations, and Dean wants to pinch himself to be sure he's awake. He's not sure if he should try and understand what exactly his angel is hinting at. "I thought angels only loved God."

The smile warms somehow, Castiel's lips curving upwards until his eyes soften and shine. "Some do. Our Father asked us to keep and care for His creation. So many of my brothers and sisters have forgotten."

There's a little downturning spiral of disappointment that cools the heat in the pit of his stomach. "So you're saying I'm part of your charge, something Daddy left a note about babysitting when He was gone?" He turns his head to the side, unwilling to see the confirmation he expects, that this has been a misunderstanding between Cas' sense of duty and his own feelings.

Abruptly, the fingers stop their caresses and firmly grasp his chin again. “I feel great affection for you, Dean Winchester. Angels were made for love, and I love you more than my brethren believe acceptable.” As he speaks he leans forward, until their noses are almost touching, sharing breath. "Do I have your consent?"

Dean's mind is spinning. He's acutely aware of how close Castiel's lips are to his own, staring at them, wondering if he dares. It takes him a few seconds to register the question. "Consent for what?"

"I would very much like to communicate my affection for you with a kiss, Dean."

"Cas? We're going to discuss the virgin thing later, ok?" He's stalling and he knows the angel in front of him isn't fooled.  "You can't just drop things on me like that.  I mean, are you talking like-love, or-"

"Dean." Just his name on those lips, and he feels lost. Feels as though the world has fallen out from under him, feels his own conflicted emotions (the ones he claims to Sam that he doesn't want to talk about) suddenly quieten.

"Yeah. Yes. Please."

Their second kiss is chaste yet intimate on a level that so many others replete with teeth and tongues fail to meet.  Close-lipped at first, until Dean exhales and Castiel inhales the air he breathes, almost as if he's tasting something.  Carefully parted lips meet over and over, and Dean realizes their fingers are intertwined on his thigh and the hand holding his chin has migrated to cup his jaw like a blessing.

The kiss ends on its own, and Castiel leans back just far enough that Dean can see his entire face.  It's lit up somehow, ecstatic in its serenity.  Tiny pinpoints of light dance in his pupils.

"Cas?"

"I've fallen so far, Dean, and yet this, this kiss, is something I cannot describe.  This vessel experiences your touch as physical sensation, but somehow my Grace can feel it as well."

There is no way Dean can answer that in words.  Instead, he raises his free hand an uses it to pull the angel back until their mouths meet again.

 

****

_"Thy name is as ointment poured forth, therefore do the virgins love thee." -Song of Solomon_


	6. The Vessel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angels and vessels are complicated.

_Now..._

Dean sits up and suddenly feels naked despite being almost fully clothed.  He feels exposed there, straddling an angel who gazes up at him with that particular brand of serenity he's become so used to.

"Wait a sec there," something itches in his mind and he speaks without thinking or trying to turn it into something that sounds less rude, "if angels can't get boners, then how can Balthazar and Gabriel go around screwing chicks and drinking booze?"

Castiel looks far too calm for a man - and here Dean reminds himself that it's an angel inhabiting a man's body - with his shirt half unbuttoned and tie even farther askew than normal.  "It has to do with the vessel, Dean."

"You just said that angels and vessels aren't the same thing.  That you can't feel the stuff humans do."  Saying the words pierces him somewhere deep and vulnerable that he doesn't want to think too hard about.

"An angel in a vessel is normally a separate entity.  We hold ourselves back from the edges of the vessel to prevent permanent merging.  Most of the time, we take one only in order to communicate with humans or to carry out a particular task on Earth before returning to Heaven.  Gabriel is different; his vessel was constructed for him when he fled Heaven.  He's merged with it in a way that it is not possible for me or any other angel to replicate."  

The hands that had previously been tucked at the small of his back slip down to his hips and he shudders, trying to tamp down the arousal and excitement still burning in his skin.  "And Balthazar?  His vessel is like that too?"

"Balthazar always was one to push the limits set by Heaven.  Hedonistic even before he came to Earth.  He too has inhabited his vessel for a long period of time.  I suspect," and here the angel's tone turns dry, "that he would indulge in human pleasures even if his vessel couldn't respond."

Castiel's hands are in motion again, this time moving to cup the half-hard bulge under the buttons of Dean's denims.  "Truly, Dean, I wish to give you pleasure."

"Cas...it's ok man, we don't have to.  I can take care of this," he gestures downwards, "myself.  I'm not going to treat you like some sort of blowup doll." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I tried my best to explain why other angels like Balthazar and Gabriel seem to be able, willing, and enthusiastic about immersing themselves in the hedonistic and sensual aspects of humanity when Castiel is at one remove from it all.


End file.
